


Today Your Barista Is: Hella Fucking Gay

by unnecessary



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, M/M, Newton is a hipster, No one is surprised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:51:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1922238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unnecessary/pseuds/unnecessary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann is a professor. The barista at the coffee shop across the street is cute and very, very single. </p><p>It is inevitable, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Today Your Barista Is: Hella Fucking Gay

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [Patster223](http://archiveofourown.org/users/patster223)'s tags on [this post](http://patster223.tumblr.com/post/84478782015/brolininthetardis-this-is-a-coffeeshop-au) on Tumblr.

Hermann walked into the locally owned and operated coffee shop at 4 p.m. on a Thursday three weeks into his first semester teaching at a new university. He was not meant to be there. He was meant to be in his office grading homework he had assigned a week ago, but he had a headache and felt like gouging his eyes out with a spoon. 

He knew it was a bad sign when he saw that the menu was written on a board above the counter in that white paint that passed for chalk. There were two people behind the counter, but the one behind the cash register had wild black hair and thick black glasses and colorful tattoos that wrapped around his forearms, and he was definitely a hipster. 

 _Oh, good,_ he thought to himself waspishly. _Just what I need._

The place was reasonably busy, but the line was short, and it wasn’t long before Hermann found himself the object of a gaze which was a little too interested for his liking. The barista had three piercings along the edge of his right ear and two on his left. At least those were all his piercings — the ones that were visible, at least. 

 _Society has ruined you,_ whispered a small part of Hermann’s mind. It was an effort to keep his mouth from twitching up at the corners. 

Then the man spoke, and it suddenly wasn’t much effort at all. 

“Let me guess,” the barista said, closing one eye and pointing a finger at Hermann like he was firing a gun. “You want tea. Something caffeinated.” 

“If I wanted tea, I would make it myself,” Hermann said flatly. His mood, which had been hovering just above “black” for most of the day, took a nose-dive. “I’ll take a cafè americano with a double shot of espresso. Please.” 

“Gonna be a late night?” the barista asked as he punched Hermann’s order into the cash register. 

Hermann sighed. “Yes.” 

“Grading?” 

Hermann shot him a look, suddenly suspicious that this was a student from one of his large lecture classes, but the man looked genuinely curious. “Yes, unfortunately.” 

The barista nodded slowly. “I know how that goes. Do you want me to add a scone or muffin to your order? You’ll want something to eat when the coffee’s gone.” 

“No, thank you,” Hermann said, though he regretted it as soon as he said it. 

The barista shrugged. “Okay.” He picked up a cup and wrote Hermann’s order on it, then handed it over to the only other employee there. “I can’t really tell you to have a nice day,” the barista said as Hermann fished a few crumpled bills out of his wallet, “but I wish you lots of students with perfect scores.” 

Hermann looked up to see the barista smiling at him. “Thanks,” he said, a little more stiffly than he intended. 

“Come back if you need another pick-me-up,” the barista said cheerfully. “We’re open until six.” Hermann nodded before going to collect his drink. 

Three hours later, staring miserably at yet another Calc III problem set that had somehow gone horribly, horribly wrong, he very much wished that he had taken the barista up on that offer. 

* * *

 

Hermann walked into the coffee shop at a reasonable time a few days later and found himself at the back of a very long line. There was a stand-up chalkboard next to the counter. Hermann’s frown deepened. Had that been there last time? The line shuffled forward a few steps and he could just barely read, in legible but careless handwriting: _Today your barista is: 1. Hella fucking gay. 2. Desperately single._

The line shuffled forward again. He could now see the drawing which accompanied the text. It was of a stick figure wearing glasses, a short-sleeved, collared shirt, and a tie. Someone had even bothered to add messy hair that could, conceivably, have been black. 

Below the drawing was written: _For your drink today, I recommend: You give me your number._

A woman with blue highlights in her black, jaw-length hair was working at the cash register this time. “What can I get for you?” she asked — calmly, politely. He gave an inward sigh of relief. At least _some_ people at this place were capable of being professional. 

“A cappuccino, please. Medium.” 

She pulled a paper cup out from under the counter. “May I have a name for your order?” 

His frown lifted in response to her smile. “Hermann, two n’s.” She nodded and wrote his name on the cup in thick black sharpie.

The tip jar, which normally read, “Tips! :) :)”,  now had a Post-It Note taped to it that read, “and numbers!” Hermann counted out exact change and did not drop anything in the jar.

He went to wait for his drink with the rest of the customers. The barista with the tattoos was clearly in his element as he swung from the counter to the espresso machine. Hermann watched with a small degree of admiration as he frothed milk into a metal pitcher, then swung around and poured it neatly into two cups, covering two orders in one go. With those drinks out of the way, the crowd in front of the counter thinned considerably, and Hermann moved forward. 

The barista plucked Hermann’s cup from the line of cups next to him and put it under the spout, turning it around as he did so in order to read the name on its surface. Something changed in the set of his shoulders, and when he swung around with the completed drink in his hand, he was almost smirking. 

“A cappuccino for _Hermann_ ,” he said as he slid the drink across the counter, and Hermann felt his face grow hot at the way the man said his name. The barista turned away and Hermann grabbed his drink. He left as quickly as the crush of people would allow.

* * *

 

The barista’s name was Newton. 

Hermann learned this when the polite barista called him that the third time he visited the coffee shop, when Newton managed to spill frothy milk all over the counter without noticing because he was too busy watching Hermann order his drink from the barista at the counter. _Her_ name was Mako, which Hermann knew because that was what was written on her name tag. 

Newton’s name tag, when he bothered to wear it, said “Hella Gay” or “Newt.” Hermann refused to call him either. 

In the interest of not becoming a regular, Hermann made an effort to order something different every time he visited. It took only two weeks for him to graduate from the standard menu to the “specials” menu, and soon Mako and Newton were freely giving him recommendations about what to order next. 

The little chalkboard seemed to have become a permanent fixture in the coffee shop. The tip jar was emptied every day at closing time, but Newton, apparently, was not having much luck. 

* * *

 

“Hey, Hermann,” Newton chirped, as he did every time Hermann walked into the shop these days. Both Newton and the stick figure on the chalkboard were wearing a bow tie today, and Newton looked unreasonably charming. Even that, however, did not cheer up Hermann very much. 

It was mid-October and therefore midterm season. This would normally have been Hermann’s least favorite part of the semester anyway, but this university’s system for keeping track of grades was absolutely archaic, and it had managed to delete half of his students’ assignments for no reason he could see. (He was tempted to rewrite the entire system himself, because _really.)_ Managing endless review sessions in his office hours while trying to recover the missing assignments without alarming his students was almost more than he could handle. 

“A mocha, please,” Hermann said shortly. 

Newton’s eyebrows shot up. “Not a good day?” 

“Not exactly, no.” Hermann quickly dug out his wallet to forestall any attempts at conversation. Newton seemed to take the hint, for once, and he rang Hermann up quickly. He took a little longer than usual to write Hermann’s name on the cup, but he didn’t talk as he did so, so Hermann wasn’t about to complain.  

Hermann should have suspected something when he noticed that Mako couldn’t stop smiling as she filled his order. 

Newton had drawn a stick figure approximation of Hermann on his cup, complete with the plaid pattern on his sweater vest. The only way in which it did _not_ approximate Hermann’s appearance was its expression, which was a big frowny face. 

“I am offended,” Hermann said as he walked past the cash register on his way out of the coffee shop. 

“Don’t diss the art,” Newton called after him. “That’s a Geiszler original, one of a kind.” 

“It’ll be worth millions in the future, I’m sure,” Hermann replied over his shoulder as he pushed through the door. 

Hermann was not exactly smiling by the time he returned to his office, but looking at the little drawing as he slogged through another inbox full of frantic emails made his day feel a little less horrible. 

* * *

 

“So,” said Newton as he handed over Hermann’s change two days later, “I trust you to give me honest criticism. Don’t hold back. I can take it.”

“Excuse me?” 

Newton raised his eyebrows. “My artistic creation, which you so cruelly insulted the day before last?” 

“Ah,” said Hermann. He tapped his cane briefly on the ground and frowned at it, considering. “I have to admit, the line work was . . . acceptable. The composition could have used some work, but that is understandable considering the speed with which the artwork was executed.” He managed to keep a straight face as he met Newton’s eyes. “The resemblance to its subject matter was uncanny.” 

Newton let out a choked-off snort of laughter, which he barely managed to stifle with one arm. “Can I quote you on that?” 

“Of course,” said Hermann, smiling. A question occurred to him which he had never thought to ask before. “Did you do the art on your arms, as well?” 

Newton blinked at him, lowering the arm from his face. “I didn’t — I mean, I didn’t _actually_ — but yeah, I did. I designed them.” He held out his arms, looking at them. 

Hermann had become so used to Newton’s tattoos, he rarely looked at them closely. Colorful sea creatures curled across his skin. A jellyfish bobbed in open water on his left arm, and the tentacles of a squid peaked out from under his right shirt sleeve. “You must really like sea life,” Hermann said, which, immediately after the words left his lips, he recognized as the most idiotic thing he could possibly have said. 

Newton really _did_ laugh at him this time. 

* * *

 

“Newton, I have had a very long day and I do not require a Peppermint Spice Latte _or_ a Pumpkin Pie Mocha,” Hermann said on a Wednesday afternoon in late October. “A speedy and heavily-caffeinated drip coffee would be _greatly_ appreciated.” 

Newton narrowed his eyes at him. Hermann raised an eyebrow in an effort to appear unimpressed and completely at ease, which may or may not have succeeded since he was (a) always impressed by Newton and (b) very uncomfortable with this kind of prolonged eye contact. “What?” said Hermann when Newton did not move, because he was fairly certain that his rejection of the seasonal drink offerings did not merit this particular response. 

Newton raised a finger. “First of all, you just called me Newton. Second of all, are you aware that you roll your r’s?” 

“First of all,” Hermann said with as much dryness as he could muster, “Newton is your name. Second of all, yes, I am aware that I roll my r’s.” 

Newton leaned forward and rested his arms on the counter, apparently headless of the fact that he was holding up the entire line while making it look like it was Hermann’s fault. “Okay, I should have been more specific. Newton _is_ my name, but you should call me Newt. And while it’s pretty obvious that you roll your r’s, that particular instance of r-rolling was singularly impressive. Unprecedented in my experience, in fact. Does that level of r-rolling by any chance mean that you speak German? Because, funny coincidence.” Newton grinned slowly, showing off a line of white teeth. 

Hermann did not generally flirt. That did not mean he was not aware of what flirting looked like. 

He raised an eyebrow infinitesimally. “As I was born in Germany, and lived in Germany, and completed my schooling in Germany, yes, I speak German.” 

 _“Wunderbar,”_ Newton said in such a horrible imitation of an American speaking German that Hermann actually snorted and had to look away to keep from laughing. The smile that spread across Newton’s face was radiant. 

“Newt,” said Mako from where she was standing by the coffeemaker. 

“Sorry,” said Newton, and he straightened. “Drip coffee, you said?” 

"Professor Gottlieb?” said someone incredulously just as Hermann opened his mouth to reply. Hermann inwardly cringed. He turned around to see one of the students from his Probability and Statistics course standing behind him. 

“Er,” said Hermann, completely forgetting the young man’s name. “Hello.” 

“Do you have office hours today? I wanted to ask you about the homework due Monday. If you’re around.” 

“Yes, I have office hours today from three to five.” _As usual,_ Hermann silently added, pulling out his wallet. 

“Great,” said the student. “I’ll see you then?” 

Hermann nodded, paid as quickly as possible, and made his escape. He picked up his drink and looked over in time to see the student slip a piece of paper into the tip jar. Newton caught Hermann’s eye over the top of the boy’s head. Hermann leveled him a glare which he hoped communicated, _Do not._

 _Jailbait?,_ Newton mouthed. 

Hermann’s mouth twitched downwards. He had no idea how old the student was, but he was far, far too young, and he did _not_ deserve a barista who had tattoos and thick glasses and a high, grating voice that sounded unreasonably alluring when he was singing along to the Mountain Goats. 

The student started to slip away, but Newton caught his eye and winked. The boy blushed, then quickly moved out of the way to let another customer by. Newton looked back at Hermann and smiled hopefully. Hermann relaxed; the wink had been flirtatious but not lewd, and Hermann was confident Newton wouldn’t call the boy’s number. Hermann gave Newton a sharp nod in thanks, then turned away. 

Perhaps Hermann’s intentions were less than altruistic, but it was not as though he could encourage such a relationship. Even if Newton was truly “desperate,” he could at least pick someone more suitable. 

* * *

“You look like you’re in a good mood today.” 

“I’m not,” Hermann said, but he didn’t bother to frown. Today he had received an email informing him that the university had _finally_ found another student to help with grading, so his weekends were about to become a great deal more pleasant. 

“What’ll it be?” Newton asked. 

In a mood to indulge, Hermann pulled out his wallet and placed a fiver on the counter. “Whatever you recommend.” Newton stared at him. “What?” Hermann asked uncomfortably after Newton had remained silent for a few seconds too long. 

“You are actually going to drink whatever I make you,” Newton said slowly. 

Hermann rolled his eyes. “Don’t let the power go to your head.” 

Newton grinned. “Oh, I won’t.” He grabbed a cup from the stack — large, Hermann noticed, so so he sincerely hoped he wasn’t going to regret this — and scribbled something on the back. He tossed it to Mako and rang Hermann up. 

Hermann took a sip and nearly spit it out. It was a black coffee. 

Alongside Hermann’s name, Newton had written, _Because you’re already too sweet. ;)_

Hermann scowled at Newton and pretended that his already good day hadn’t just gotten significantly better.

* * *

 

“Have you really still not collected any numbers?” Hermann asked. It was mid-November and the chalkboard remained in its place by the counter. 

Newton smiled. “I just haven’t gotten the right one.” 

* * *

 

The next day, the chalkboard was still there, but the picture on it had changed. The stick figure of Newton was holding hands with someone. 

So he had found someone after all. It had been inevitable, of course. Perhaps Hermann’s comment the day before had been what had encouraged Newton to finally make a decision. If so, all the better. Newton, tattoos and irritating manner and tendency to hum under his breath aside, deserved to be happy. 

The line moved forward and Hermann got a good look at the drawing. He noticed the cane and the sweater vest — and, yes, the stick figure holding hands with Newton was definitely wearing a blazer. 

Hermann looked up to find himself at the front of the line. Newton was standing next to the cash register, drumming his fingers on the counter. When he saw Hermann looking, he stopped. Hermann took the few remaining steps between him and the counter. He looked back at the drawing, then at Newton. “Me?” 

Newton smiled a little nervously. “Yeah, duh.” 

Hermann glanced at his watch, then looked over at Mako. “Miss Mori, is there any reason Newton would need to stay late tonight?” 

“Not at all,” she said with a smile over her shoulder as she completed an order. 

Hermann looked back at Newton. “Then I will pick you up for dinner at six.” 

Newton blinked. “Like — _tonight?_ Really?” 

Hermann raised an eyebrow, ignoring the heavy beating of his heart. “Do you have any objections?” 

A smile spread across Newton’s face that was as brilliant as any Hermann remembered seeing. “Nope.” 

(It turned out that taking the job at this university had not been such a bad idea after all.)


End file.
